


A Healer's Dilemma

by Valasania



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: #Shrine of Power, #Twilight Princess references, #angst, #pining, Multi, OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22011853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valasania/pseuds/Valasania
Summary: Mipha accompanies Link and Zelda on their pilgrimage to the Shrine of Power.
Relationships: Link/Zelda/Mipha
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I personally loved Mipha. While I am a devout Zelda/Link shipper, I can’t help but feel sad that there aren’t many, if any stories that really explore the potential between these three. I guess you could call this my OT3 BoTW story. Takes place during Memory #9. Enjoy!

The sound of running water ought to have been comforting for a Zora. They were born of the water. Lived within it for much of their lives. Its sweet serenade was found within the pulsing of their blood, underlaying every thought, every dream, every emotion.

Mipha felt nothing of the sort, enclosed within the immaculately quarried walls of the Spring of Power.

In fact, it felt rather claustrophobic.

But perhaps that wasn’t really the fault of the spring – it was a beautiful thing, a testament to the sophistication of Hylia’s chosen people, carving their mark into the world. The spring was masterfully sculpted to guide the clear waters up and around, spilling back down into its center. A perfect cloister made of nothing but the lifeblood of the land.

Those waters fed the vegetation – the gentle oaks that towered in the water, somehow never drowning, as well as the water flowers and grasses and algae, before disappearing through cleverly hidden channels to the lakes miles away.

No Sheikah had a hand in this glade – none of the Sheikah responsible for the Beasts, at least. No impossible technology. No gods. Just time, just patience, just creativity and care. In that sense, it was a marvel to behold, and perfect for the servants of Hylia to conduct their devotions to her.

Mipha dipped her hand into the water, letting it flow past the webbing of her fingers, over her scales. It was freezing, even in summer. Some of it probably came from runoff from Death Mountain. She had no idea how Zelda tolerated it without the biology of a Zora, in that thin gown of hers.

The princess of Hyrule prayed in spite of the cold. Her knight, holding his vigil with his back toward her, did not look at Mipha where she sat near the entrance.

Neither of them had looked at her much once they passed into the green lands of Akkala. They’d pretended before then, on their way from the domain, but she’d quickly realized that their minds were far away from her.

Link would prepare sumptuous meals from his simple pot over the fire, and she might draw some banter from him if she were lucky. His blue eyes would flash with amusement – only a moment stolen from whatever dour thoughts settled over him like storm clouds – before they’d dip away and hide from her again. Zelda had asked her more than once – pitching her voice so the whispers would assuredly reach her knight over the pop and hiss of fat and moisture – how she managed to slip between the cracks of Link’s demeanor so simply.

It was no secret – Link was not so different from a normal man that he couldn’t laugh when surrounded by good company. Familiarity was the way to his heart. Familiarity that the princess had long since earned.

Mipha’d hoped those words would prove as comforting as she intended, but the flush that stole over Zelda’s cheeks, rising from her neck to her ears, was not bashfulness, but shame. Link’s smile became strained, and his focus became wholly dedicated to the task before him.

Mipha hadn’t understood _why_ until they made camp outside the chiseled gates of the spring. Her every attempt to correct her mistake met with empty air – she could not connect, could not comfort.

Couldn’t even meet their eyes, for when she tried, they would not let her in. Would not let her heal, would not let her help.

“I come seeking help…”

Mipha’s eyes narrowed, her lips curving into a frown.

_Let_ me _help you._

Moonlight alone illuminated the spring, turning the waters white and the weathered stone of the Goddess statue to marble… but Zelda was, to Mipha’s eyes shrouded by shadow. Hair that ought to have shone molten silver merely glittered golden, garments that ought to be radiant white were sodden and grey. It was as though nature itself sought to deny Zelda the very image she’d been promised… she ought to have been a goddess incarnated, but she remained merely a girl.

A scared, lonely girl.

“Mother heard them, the voices from the spirit realm…”

When Link turned his head to not-look at Zelda, Mipha’s jaw tightened. The two locked eyes for the merest seconds, and past his carven features Mipha saw kin to the frustration brewing within her chest, saw the pain he found in failing in his duty to _protect_.

Link’s jaw tightened and he looked away, listening, eyes locked upon the walls with an intensity that would’ve shaken a Moblin.

“But I don’t hear… or feel anything!”

Mipha eyes would not still; they were engines she could channel the restless energy building in her bloody into. Her hands itched to clench, so she clasped her ankles and held still. Zelda’s hands rose, cupping together in supplication – “Father has told me time and time again…” – and Link’s clenched around the pommel of the Master Sword, as though to throttle an unseen foe.

_“’Quit wasting your time playing at being a scholar!’”_

His teeth did not grind, his gaze did not waver, nothing in his body betrayed him. Mipha felt the energy in his body, restless, protective, angry – felt it in him, as she felt it in herself, for they were of one mind.

“Curse you!”

Splash.

…Who? Her father, who asked too much, or Hylia, who gave too little?

_Us, who cannot give her the help she needs?_

Enough.

Zelda looked away from the statue and Mipha pushed herself to her feet and Link’s eyes flickered between them. The energy had reached a fever pitch. He could not move, could not act. Someone had to break this stalemate, someone. She would not sit, she _would not_ let Zelda _—_

“What’s wrong with me?!”

Mipha’s breath caught in her chest. Link’s face betrayed him, naked pain, failure – the rage of an animal defending – and then he was stone, and he was turning, Master Sword rising from the stone. Mipha trotted forward to his side, and—

And Zelda turned and began to slosh towards them, her dress hiked up to her knees and sandaled feet steady upon the slick stones under the water. Link proffered his hand to her silently and hoisted her out of the spring, face unreadable once more.

And Mipha extended her hand, almost touching Zelda’s shoulder, but could not close the distance. It was beyond her in that moment to encapsulate everything she wished to say in a few words, or a single gesture. It was impossible for her to express what the smoldering coil within her demanded she speak – what she felt, what—

Their eyes met, the Hylian’s a green akin to new leaves, the Zora’s an amber tranquil like the coming of twilight, and Mipha found the courage to reach further – the other shoulder, pulling the shivering girl closer until she was snug at Mipha’s side.

A moment passed – a moment punctuated by the girl’s surprised inhalation – and then Link’s arm was around her shoulders and she was held between them.

A moment. A moment. A moment of courage.

And it passed, and her exhalation was almost a sob, and Mipha could only hold tighter as they walked away from spring and the cold stone statue.


	2. Chapter Two

She had known this feeling before.

A curling dread, like a clammy stone within her gut, or a chill fog drawing a curtain over her field of view. A winter’s day without the sun. A bitten evening without a moon. A specter hung over her – over them all – robbing them of the warmth of companionship.

Apprehension was cold, Mipha mused to herself. 

She’d tasted it at funerals – her mother’s foremost in her memory, long ago though it had been. Muzu’s kindly wife Laruta, whose passing brought an end to the old teacher’s joy. The Hylian Queen’s – whose death seemed to draw a veil over all of Hyrule and snuffed the light from the King’s eyes.

She’d felt it too the day Link left the Domain for the final time – she’d known, even then, that their goodbye then was not to be for forever, but did mark the end of something precious. Something she’d miss.

She’d felt it again when she learned that Link had been the one to draw forth the Master Sword.

Another page turned in the story of their lives; another chapter in the life of the boy she once knew, left behind to make room for the man he’d become.

She’d felt these things. Known them. Thought she’d become, if not comfortable, then capable enough in her experience to handle them. 

Evidently not.

Could these things be measured in sighs and tears? Her three decades were considerable and brimming with memory – with weight – yet they were a whisper of life to people like her father, who’d seen centuries pass by before his wizened eyes.

She’d heard his sighs – memories of forgotten days leaving his breast on a gentle exhalation. She’d wiped away his tears, wrapped in his embrace, the liquid pearls warm against her scales.

Those things weren’t wholly bad, at least. In them, she’d come to understand a different kind of healing. Her father was brighter when she asked for stories of times he seldom reminisced of, even when they led down darkened roads. The same worked for Muzu, though his pain was a wound closer to the soul than merely the heart. He was an oyster, clutching tightly to his love, but once opened had a luster she knew few knew, and few would ever know again.

Mipha was, at heart, a healer. Knowledge of this sort was vital to her as water and air and food. Applying this to herself, though, rather than others, was new.

The cold in her chest could not be measured by the sigh of the gentle breeze that caressed her scales, nor did the flickering flame bring her any comprehension of the darkness festering in the hearts of her companions. A wound festered in their camp that night, torn open anew by the goddess’ silence.

It was a wound she could not heal by conventional means, nor with her magic. It was not grief, either. Not pain. Not memory. Mipha was a miracle worker, but even she had not the power to make the goddess Hylia speak when she would not deign to of her own accord.

But that was but one side of the injury done to her companions – an intuition born of a lifetime of empathy told her that the silence of the goddess was not the only thing plaguing their camp, though it was the heaviest stormcloud hanging above their heads.

The nature of this unknown factor, however, she could not divine.

That, in itself, was a blow. She was a healer, yet she could not find the wound. There was no pain. No sigh. No tears. Just darkness, and cold.

The energy from before was tightening again into its coil. The energy made her restless. Her arms worked. The lean muscle from decades mastering the spear she’d built refused to burn like she wanted – preparing the fish that would compliment their meal was simply insufficient to challenge their endurance.

The flaking scales of their meal were sticky in her hands.

For all the life their little camp showed, with Link preparing the evening meal and Zelda adding dry kindling to the fire and Mipha scaling the fish, the knight and his princess could have been mute statues for all the emotion they displayed, and Mipha had no answers.

She watched them anyways.

Link, she knew, and her eyes ran over him, for once without the flush of _something_ that usually thrummed through her blood. This was not her admiring him, this was examination. Analysis.

Of all the people of Hyrule, including his closest friends, confidants, and kin, Mipha suspected only she would have noticed the inconsistencies in his behavior she immediately picked up. There was pride in that – pleasure, even – but it was a distant thing in her mind, secondary to her search.

Link moved with grace while he cooked. Every ingredient was picked from their container with only a cursory check. Where he paused, it was always to pick between two excellent options – a choice of spice, or garnish, for example. His eyes were raptor-like; his hands, though calloused and hard, were careful and delicate where necessary. A master of the blade already, Link was possibly an equal in the culinary arts.

At least as far as flavor could go. Mipha suspected the delicate masterpieces turned out by the Castle’s kitchens were beyond him, but they had the benefit of an array of ingredients, facilities, and hands to work with. Where they had those advantages to bolster their undeniable skill, Link could make a feast out of what he foraged during the day that would fill the belly and delight the tongue.

This she knew. That was her friend, the selfsame man who’d been her companion through their childhoods.

For all his efficiency though, that night, Link’s culinary skill could not mask the _edge_ he exuded.

It was a ragged, angry presence too faint to be real, but existed in the small things he did that no-one else would notice, had they not her experience.

His face was a hard façade. His features, for all their expression, could have been carven. But Link was _not_ a statue.

He _enjoyed_ cooking – it was the one, uncontroversial, indisputable part of him that he had never hidden. More than he loved the act of cooking, Link loved to eat. Big meals, small meals. Meals in the castle, meals on the road, meals while swimming (and she’d had to scold him many times for doing that) and meals while riding on horseback. If he wasn’t carrying a shield, he might even have snacked during a battle – had he faced an opponent skilled enough to last so long.

This night, the greens were chopped with the same intensity of expression he reserved for moblins. The rice was drowned in water and the bowl set on the flames without the slightest hint of hesitation. His feet were so silent – so controlled – that they’d have seen him through a Yiga fortress unscathed.

The silence itself, so integral to Link, was unnerving.

He _hummed_ while he cooked. Unconsciously. Whatever earworm was in his brain at the time. As children, Mipha thought it was adorable, and with the other Zora filled his ears with as many songs and whimsical rhymes as they could concoct, as often as they could manage, and try to catch him in the act. The embarrassment would drive him to distraction.

But now, he did not. He did not hum. His mind did not wander; his was a laser-focus, a fixation. Mipha did not think it was wrapped up in the finer points of preparing their meal.

Silence, stillness, control. They were a keen edge. Or a ragged edge. Or a bludgeon. Any blade – any _weapon_ suited Link when he was fighting. It was what made him dangerous.

It was _not_ what made him a good cook. They were both a part of him, certainly, and both parts that Mipha admired, but their crossing was a symptom as clear as a red blossom beneath a bandage.

But it was just a symptom, however concerning, and did nothing to enlighten her further to the real problem. She knew how to fix it – engage him, pull his mind far away from whatever dark road it stalked; that was well within her power, and would probably restore to him some of the carefully hidden levity she knew he had in him.

She did not – her curiosity and her concern burned too hotly. She had to know more. She had to, if she wanted to help him. Them.

To her silent frustration though, he was closed to her beyond that. Observation would only get her so far.

She looked to the other princess of their party.

Zelda was harder to understand. Mipha had known her for nearly as long as she had Link, but it had always been in an official capacity. Princess to princess, or when they had time away from court, healer to scholar.

Reading her like she could Link was beyond her. Her first glimpse of the person, the _girl_ Zelda, had been in the Spring. Zelda’s only knowledge of _her_ was her touch, and whatever she’d seen in Mipha’s eyes before shame turned her face earthward.

_Who are_ you _, Zelda? Let me in. Let me see. Let me help you._

So Mipha watched her for some hint, some sign, some _symptom_ she could examine – assess – and perhaps remedy.

On her face, Zelda bore the expression of a monarch. A brooding monarch, perhaps, but it was an unreadable expression nonetheless, and that was the wall that halted Mipha’s probe. In one hand she held the fire-stick, which she used to prod the small campfire on the occasion that some kindling fell away or the flames began to gutter. Unlike Link’s unnatural precision, she handled it as she had every other night. Haphazardly, distracted. It was something to do. Something to occupy the body while the mind wandered.

Where, Mipha wondered.

Zelda’s eyes were shrouded. Mipha knew an incontrovertibly sharp mind dwelled behind them. That even now it must be flying, furious, inexhaustible, _harried_.

But that was not a clue, not a hint; that was obvious to any who knew her. None could becalm the waters of the mind within a storm of its own making – not without a force greater, a balm more potent than the hurt driving it. And Mipha doubted a force sufficient to still the mind of the princess of Hyrule existed upon the face of the land.

Her shoulders were tight, Mipha noted, just so. A touch might cause them to stiffen, then relax.

Her brow was furrowed, just so. A touch might cause her to reel, then soften.

Her back was hunched, _just so_ , as though the weight of the world lay upon her. A touch might cause her to straighten, then melt.

Just so.

But those things were physical, and while they told a story that Mipha might work to bring a happier ending, it would be mistaking symptoms for the source to take them as the _whole_ story.

A darkness hung about her, where light should have been. An edge. A ragged edge. One less violent, less cutting, less _bestial_ than the kind that hung about Link, but an edge nonetheless. The frustration that hung around her emanated in waves – lapping at the edge of the subconscious at first, too slight to note, but growing in ferocity.

They drew back. Returned. Fiercer. Her fingers flexed. Again. More powerful. Angry. The coil in her jawline tightened. A tsunami.

And as Link crossed their little campsite to take the fish from Mipha – her preparations finished without her conscious attention on her hands – Zelda’s eyes flickered toward them, and the tension left her in a whoosh.

Her eyes shut, and the edge fell away.

A second, suspended in eternity, where without the mask Mipha saw.

Zelda sighed, and in that sigh was contained the weight of a father’s failed expectations and the loneliness of one abandoned by the gods.

In that sigh was contained a thousand raging accusations. Countless haunted nights without peaceful slumber. A young woman’s fledgling experience. A girl’s self-doubt. Tears unnumbered.

In that sigh was a storm. A war of failure and pride and shame and defiance. A lens, through which her soul was visible.

In that sigh was a temporary release, and for a moment the moonlight that fell upon her, and the flames the illuminated her, and the peace the suffused her, made her gleam like a goddess.

Link watched them both, paused by the fireside, eyes glittering like fireflies.

Zelda’s eyes opened, and Mipha was transfixed.

“I will try again tomorrow,” Zelda said. Her eyes were coals, reflecting flames in the green of her irises, and in them Mipha saw an inner fire that would not be doused. An ember, or perhaps a cinder of the woman – the queen – she would be one day.

In them Mipha saw the shadow of the girl behind the sovereign’s mask she put on each morn; one who had shed tears unnumbered. One who had shouldered her own self doubt and inexperience and the impossible expectations of countless others ignorant to her struggle.

One who’d faced her silent goddess time and again, and who kneeled to beseech her anew each day without fail.

Her eyes were coals.

In them were intermixed shadow and light – the darkness Mipha felt was entwined with light. Perhaps the light was not hope, as it might have been in another time, another place. Perhaps the light was fiercer, defiant; the light of one who would burn and burn until nothing remained – of one who would not fade quietly into the dark.

Perhaps the light was not pure, as would be expected of the incarnation of the goddess. It was not the light of dawn, nor of the radiant sun, the twinkling stars, or the serene moon.

But the light was the same light she saw in Link. The darkness within, the same.

In that moment, Mipha thought she understood Zelda the girl just a little.

And with that understanding, she saw the wound for what it was, and inclined her head in acceptance.

The urge to reach out and hold her – just a touch, even, to let her know she was not alone in her battle – was nigh-impossible to repress. It was the same need she felt for Link – to reach out was to grasp fire, for his was a destiny for conflict.

Of the wounds he would sustain, some she would heal, others would be beyond her. To reach out held the potential to cure the remainder, and the potential to inflict one still greater than the rest.

To reach out to Zelda would be the same. Perhaps her conflict was not one of battle – not yet – but still, some wounds would heal, others would linger. Would fester.

To reach. Or.

Mipha looked down at her hands – red flecked with sticky grey fish scales and grime. Lean muscle. Callouses. The hands of a healer, and a warrior.

Looked within. What might they see, then, in her, if they looked as she had?

Or.

She drew in a breath. Flexed her hands. Remembered the lightning touch, and the warmth, pulling Zelda close, and Link bracketing her in.

Her eyes closed, and she sighed, letting it all flow out.

Or.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this has been going on a bit longer than I was expecting. Probably only two chapters left at most. Hope you enjoy!

That night, Mipha dreamed.

Senses she seldom relied upon – smell, taste, touch – became spheres through which she strode on four legs.

Perhaps, were she to take the time to sit and feel, she might have come to know some part of what she knew now. She'd certainly spent her fair share of time in deep meditation, honing her perceptions, the better to tighten her connection to the world and the flow of magic. But…

The forest she trod was alive in a way she could never have comprehended while limited to her body of scale and flesh, dominated by sight and sound.

Not that sight and sound had no place in this new body, she had just never felt so… _more_.

Her nose twitched on her smoky muzzle, showing her the pathways taken by a multitude of quarries, so clear their trail could have been a bright line through the undergrowth.

Squirrels chattered to each other above her, insolent voices ignorant of the apex predator that stalked their woods. On the air she could scent their stashes, hidden beneath the earth, within the hollows of the trees. Were they to notice her, Mipha doubted she would receive naught but a litany of taunts… from the safety of the boughs.

Her ears twitched, catching the breeze.

Birdsong. Wind's whisper. Wood's gentle creak, labored groan. Rustling leaves, falling seed.

She breathed deep.

The scent of mulch filled the air, new with the decay and growth of spring. Game, big and small, their paths intercrossing, diverging; the sounds of their passing evident in the rustle of leaves, branches, and bark. Prey, hunter. Territories vast, intersecting, some irrelevant, some intriguing, tantalizing the beast in her soul.

These things did Mipha sense.

They were a curtain of sensation. Calming. Serene. Wild, yet one with her spirit, as the rapids too were part of the flowing river.

Her eyes shut, and her mind drifted upon these waves.

Mipha wished Zelda could feel this.

That castle was her prison. That crown was a chain stronger than iron… Her bloodline – her _damned_ sense of duty – entombed her within a life she didn't want…

Mipha wished…

But she should not wish. It was not her place.

Yet…

Mipha wished – in her secret heart where none could see but herself and whatever gods might exist out there – that she could gift her queen the serenity she felt out here in nature…

She wished she could teach her queen feel, if only for a day, the freedom she felt with naught but the wind on her fur and the ambiance of the wild the only song threading through her mind.

She wished…

…

Three years was a long time. Longer still, to spend in the body of a beast, where before she had walked clad in the flesh of a man.

Long enough, even, for her to forget what it was to walk astride two legs and to speak. Language to her, now, was a tilt of the head or a crinkling of the brow. A whine to cajole, a rumble to comfort.

A snarl, with just that perfect, vicious edge, to threaten.

She had never been good with words. Abandoning them was no great sacrifice. She did not miss them. What use had she for words now, when bared teeth and flashing eyes could turn away the noisome press of petitioners and nobles so easily?

There were so many of them…

Three years was a lot of time to learn. Of them. Of life. Of politics. Of _her_.

Three years, she had stood by her Queen's side as her guardian.

Three years…

Nameless, her legend had swept through the castle, and the kingdom beyond. Further and wider than the stories of the man ever had. Those were whispers now – fond recollections of a phantom who'd vanished into the twilight.

The stories now were closer, more tangible than those of a strange, righteous adventurer.

A beast made docile by her Grace's benevolence.

A savage wolf tamed by her touch.

A spirit of the wild summoned to guard the Queen after the great Incursion which plunged their kingdom into twilight.

Perhaps, even, a prize wrested from the invaders, brought to heel as reparations.

These things were said, spoken in hushed whispers on the lips of peasant and noble alike as the weeks passed into months, and months became years.

Rumors. More empty words, for which she had no need. Their only virtue was in spreading her reputation far and wide, the better to humble her Queen's foes great and small when they came to prostrate themselves before her.

In that time, the edifice that was her queen's home – their home, now – rose slowly from the rubble it had been reduced to.

People came to them, and the shattered throne was recreated.

The ramparts were renewed, and men came to patrol them.

The countryside was scoured of enemies, and slowly the plow was taken to the earth once again, and the natural order re-established itself.

Time could pass quickly. Three years could become a blink of the eye.

It was three years ago to the day that Mipha and Zelda last saw her – since the mirror that divided their worlds was shattered, and they were left alone to pick up the pieces and wonder, and wish.

Their Twilight Princess…

Three years and a blink of the eye, and the castle that was ruined was made whole. The country laid low now stood tall. The faces of its people were now proud again, and contented.

All of it set aright, as they'd promised.

All… was a powerful word. It was so easy to lie, using it.

Mipha wished, futilely.

Midna…

The pain was an arrow between her ribcage. It was a barbed, metal head vanishing inside her. A cold seeping away from the wound, stretching, stretching, becoming a yawning void. A chasm. A rift.

The divide between them – them, they three, they three bound by destiny through some farce of fate, _they three souls marked by the gods_ – that divide was—

It was—

Mipha snarled, eyes held shut against the cacophony. It _hurt._

_It wasn't supposed to be this way!_

_She wasn't supposed to leave!_

_I should have said something! I should have stopped her!_

The whine, long, and drawn from her throat like razorwire, became a howl before Mipha registered what she was doing. There was no hesitation, no more thought.

Hurt.

Loss.

Longing.

Midna.

Zelda.

They three, together.

These things were not words, not just. Words would only diminish their keenness, could not suffice to capture that which he felt in that moment.

Silence and stillness befell the woods.

Squirrels ceased to chitter, their scuffling upon the boughs ceased for a moment as the long, resonant notes from deep within his chest filled the air, echoing through the trees. Mipha imagined through a haze that they might travel up into the sky, past the boundaries of the world itself.

That—

Mipha wished—

That perhaps Midna might hear her.

She howled until her throat ached and the tension in her chest began to ease – until she felt content that her song was complete.

_I l—_

_I—_

Mipha stopped. Lowered her head. Listened to the silent forest slowly came alive again.

To the steady beat of her heart.

To the chitter of squirrels, and their angry accusations.

To the footsteps, the faint rustle of woolen cloth, and the creak of sinew and lacquered wood.

Her eyes sprung wide, and she was on her feet before her heart could beat again, just in time to meet the steel arrowhead with her spine.

Mipha dropped with a pained yelp, and lay still.

"I got him! Master! Master, come look!"

She could not move.

Far away – or close – Mipha could hear the youth as he celebrated and his master slowly – silently, with the practiced stride of a master woodsman – approaching from downwind.

She could not move.

There was no pain.

"Master, come look at this! You said I'd never make a shot like that!"

"Give me a moment, give me a moment, if the shot was clean it's not like your prize'll be going anywhere anyways."

Mipha thought the voice was pleasant. Deep. Calming. A teacher proud of their student.

The master's gait was true – that he'd fallen behind the student was no accident.

A test. One that had been passed, most like.

Mipha could not see the boy. Her mind supplied the image. Blond hair, blue, rounded eyes. An energy – a will – to learn. Such a student would need such a teacher willing to give them the space to learn.

"It was clean, master. Right through the spine! Dropped like a sack of stones."

"The spine?" the voice took on a disapproving tint, but was not harsh. "Goddesses boy, what are you standing around for!"

Two sets of footsteps approached Mipha where she lay.

"Wow, he's big…"

"Aye… Not seen a bigg'un like this near the city since…"

A large hand, calloused by a lifetime handling a bow, hovered over her. Her eyes could not see him, so her mind supplied the image.

Blonde hair. Round, compassionate blue eyes under a dark brow. A square jaw, and a large, angular nose.

A fitting teacher.

Everything was greying at the edges.

"…"

"Master?"

"Ravi…" The specter of shock lingered in the master's voice. His dread bled off of him. Mipha resented that.

Zelda was understanding.

Greying…

_Zelda…_

"Is something wrong?"

An inhalation. Steadying. Fortifying.

"I… know this one. The markings, here. He's the Queen's – her wolf. I didn't think – I didn't _know_ he'd _be_ out here today. I didn't know he left the castle at all!"

"Oh… _oh_ … oh goddesses, oh _no…_ "

Her heart. Her heart was beating against a numb chest. It was a world away.

Her eyes were closed. They were closed. They would not open. It was so dark, darkening.

The panicked breathing – the reassurances of the master to his apprentice; he would stand for him, the queen was merciful, he wasn't going to the hangman's noose for an _accident_ – it was so far away.

So far away.

Far.

She was sundered from them. From the voices. From the sounds of the forest. From her very heartbeat.

Sundered.

… _Oh golden goddesses, what am I doin'…? Poor thing…_

A hand on her head, rubbing gently.

… _Be over soon boy…_

Zelda. Midna.

_No._

She whined.

no no no no no

The blade paused, poised above him.

No no no no no nonononononononoNO

The hand was on her head again.

… _sorry, boy…_

In the moment before the blade cleanly severed her from life, Mipha found her words again.

_NO wait please I have to tell her at least her oh goddesses I did what you wanted why why WHY Midna Zelda I love—_

X_0_X

Mipha jolted, was plunged back into darkness with an image of the softly glowing Master Sword burned into her retinas.

X_0_X

Mipha dreamed, this time floating high above a sea of heads.

No senses greeted her, no sound, no scent, no taste, no touch. Those were for the living, for mortal bodies. That world.

She could only watch and suffer on in silence from across the rift between worlds, as her Queen held court.

The smallfolk approached her, as drab and dull in their garb as she was resplendent and regal.

On a simple throne beneath the re-sculpted sigil of the goddess' grace – the divine benison by which her bloodline derived its right to rule – Zelda listened to the words of her people great and small.

In her world of silence, Mipha could not hear those words, but she knew the lay of this particular field. Boons, requests, and from the most insolent, demands veiled and overt. Some few paid tribute. Others simply paid respect to the reigning queen.

It was a more tolerable thing, experiencing this without their voices grating on her ears, but in that moment Mipha wished—

She howled, but her voice could not reach between worlds.

The sun was beginning its descent beneath the hills by the time the throng began to clear. It was at that time that the huntsman and his apprentice delivered her body to the queen.

In life, she was too large for them to carry unaided, so they'd gathered her up on a litter. The arrowshaft had been removed, but the trickle of dried blood upon her fur remained.

The silence preceded her, and them. Expressions turning curious, then briefly colored with shock, horror, fear – and in some; anger, outrage.

There was little sadness. What emotions there were, were for the queen, and her loss. Mipha had not been loved. A beast was not loved.

This did not move her.

Indeed, it did not move the Queen, either. Not that.

Mipha's body was lowered to the tiled floor. Master and apprentice knelt in obeisance to their queen and their lips moved silently, telling their story. They were held in true silence – the silence of a judging monarch – and released. They fled, figurative tails between their legs, horribly guilty but relieved beyond measure that their mistake would not be their end.

Mere minutes.

Those minutes were longer than the countless hours Mipha'd spent in court combined.

Zelda never looked at them. Never looked away from Mipha's body. Her face was stone.

Mipha howled, futilely.

The queen rose and dismissed her court with a wave of her hand. Her guards followed. The great wooden doors defending the sanctuary were pulled shut. Life abandoned the throne room, until all that remained was Zelda, her face shadowed by the rays of fading twilight cast through the windows.

She was stone.

She was steel.

A fool would call her fragile.

A fool would compare her expression to glass, beginning to crack.

Her mettle was stronger.

Her grief was frightening.

Mipha howled, louder, willing her words to cross the divide.

Even stone could crack. Even steel could bend, under sufficient force.

Mipha could feel the arrow, burrowing deeper, ever deeper.

The force squeezing Zelda's heart could have shaken the foundations of Hyrule Castle.

She showed none of it on her face.

Zelda approached her, knelt beside her. Removed her silken gloves and slowly, hesitantly, _painfully_ ran her fingers through Mipha's fur.

Slowly, Zelda's head bowed beneath the weight bearing down upon her and she buried her face into Mipha's neck, and through the silence between worlds Mipha felt the quaking of her tears.

Three years… was not a long time. Not now.

This moment was an eternity.

Mipha's howl rose in pitch, sharply, ever higher, until – abruptly – her awareness was roughly pulled away.

X_0_X

Mipha—

_Mipha._

Not Link – not That Link.

Mipha. The Zora. Princess of the Zora. Daughter of King Dorephan, and Champion of the Divine Beast Vah Ruta – _Mipha_ came back to herself shaking, quivering, even amidst the indistinct confines of her dreaming mind.

She—

She—

" _Do not die with regrets."_

She twisted around to face the voice. Icy eyes stared back at her; the wolf's face. _That_ Link's face, which she had worn.

She had seen through those eyes. She had felt this man. Understood this man, for a short time.

But why?

His mouth did not move, but the voice he spoke with was a razor.

" _Do not die with regrets."_

In that moment, her question was answered. Connections formed like a lightning strike. The story had been told. The teller's purpose…

She blinked against tears. Swallowed, and found that she could do so even within a dream. "I… I understand. I understand what you're trying to tell me."

" _Good."_ The icy eyes turned up at the corners, and some of the pain dropped away. _"Life is short. It will not wait. It seldom grants second chances. Do not make our mistakes…"_

Mipha bowed her head. "I'll do my best."

" _Good. Go, child of water. Go forth. Live."_

The words of the dead man washed over her like soothing rain.

Mipha woke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment telling me what you thought!


	4. Chapter Four

Mipha surged out of her bedroll, heart pounding and eyes scanning her surroundings with lightning alacrity.

A darkened campsite, just one tent. Her bedroll and another's laid out under the canopy. No foes, no creatures, no scents and no huntsmen.

And yet…

She was surrounded by shadows, shade, bushes, trunks, a sprawling foliage that might hide a cunning predator. They might lurk beneath the ground or high in the bows.

Anywhere, _anywhere_ could house a threat – _it_ could— _would_ come for her from where she'd least expect it.

Her heart pounded in her breast, safe beneath her armor of scales from all but the most cunningly wrought weapons, yet feeling horribly, terribly exposed all the same. Unconsciously, she reached for her trident, fingers itching.

How could she know, without the acute senses of a beast? Her nose was weak – limited to what was effectively right below it. Her ears were stifled like the world had become shrouded in cloying fog. Even her eyes felt wrong. She saw the world in different shades and textures, fit for aquatic environs but ill-suited for a night under the forest canopy.

Compared to her – His – wolf's senses, it was like being able to see only a few feet in front of her.

And even those had been blind to an upwind approach.

Such a thought did her no favors, and her eyes darted to the shadows.

There was a gleaming broadhead in every shudder of undergrowth, every twisting shadow cast by the flame.

She would later wonder why she hadn't registered Link sitting on a low tree bough when scanning for danger.

"Are you alright?"

Mipha whirled so violently that her head-tail slapped her shoulder and her jewelry rattled.

For—

For a moment, as her head tilted back to look up at him, she saw _those icy blue eyes_ and suddenly her heartbeat was arrested she was held – seized – _she could not breathe the arrow dug deeper and_ —

And she breathed in. And she breathed out.

Link's eyes pierced her, grounding her to this body and this time and this life.

It was a dream, Mipha remembered belatedly.

A dream.

She shivered.

An important dream, but a dream. _Just_ a dream. She was not being hunted, not here and not now. She was not.

She was not sundered from—

She wasn't.

Mipha inhaled, and let it out in a long draft. She tucked her arms in on herself, pressing her chin downwards. Link's concerned eyes were fixed on her, but they – he – had to wait.

It was just a dream.

Just?

Mipha's hands trembled. The arrowshaft drove deeper. She resisted the urge to flood her body with healing magic, just to reassure herself with its cool flush.

Breath in. Out.

Slowly, seconds passed.

Her shoulders sagged, and her pulse slackened.

The understanding she'd been granted – a boon she hadn't asked for – it deserved her consideration. She needed to process it all. She needed time to think.

Her promise weighed heavy in her heart.

"Mipha?"

She looked up again.

Link's eyes were not the icy blue of the wolf. They were like the limitless blue of the sky. A deep, flowing stream. _Her_ Link's blue. Hers.

"It was a dream," she said faintly. The words were heavy in her mouth.

His head tilted to the side, concerned, curious. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She should.

She couldn't.

He would understand.

How could he?

Did it matter?

Mipha would have offered to do the same thing if he'd been the one suffering from a nightmare – had done so, even, when they were young.

He'd never needed to ask _her_ , until now. It had never come up.

Had he ever offered Zelda the same? Surely she had bad dreams…

Why hadn't _she_?

_Deeper…_

She…

Her head was spinning. She needed to think.

Mipha shook her head, not helping the almost-nausea churning in her stomach. "No, not now at least. Maybe later," she managed.

"Okay." He still watched her. Less like a hawk, more like a mother cat watches her kittens. He wouldn't intervene unless something made him, but it wasn't for lack of care.

She had a creeping suspicion that he would be watching her for the rest of the night with the same frightful intensity. That…

That made her heart do funny things in her chest.

She sucked in a draft of air and held it. There. She'd admitted it. But…

_But what,_ she accused herself.

It changed nothing. _Nothing_. She'd known already.

She'd known for a long time that—

No.

Stop…

…She had to move.

Mipha untangled her legs from her bedroll and rose to her feet, adjusting her sash awkwardly. A few of her charms managed to wind themselves up again…

She'd considered leaving them behind – ornamentation was well and good at court, at official functions, and around the Domain, but among _friends_ it really was too ostentatious…

…Really, they were suffocating. That would explain the lack of breath, it had been a long time since she'd last been able to walk without silver and beads and thread jingling around her. She had to envy the other Zora; they could get away with a few metal bands and scales and nobody would make a comment about it.

She should just—

"Mipha?"

She looked at him, fingers wrapped around her choker, and her suddenly leaden hands fell to her sides. "I'm going to go for a walk, I think."

He blinked. "Are you sure you don't want to talk?"

His brow furrowed. He was tense, coiled in a way that told her he was ready to leap down to sit with her, if she'd just say the words.

It was more concern than he'd show almost anyone else.

"I'm sure," she said faintly.

Link continued to stare pointedly at her. Mipha suddenly felt the furthest from sure she'd ever been. He gestured to her charms with a dip of his head.

"If you don't want to wear any of that, you don't have to you know."

Oh, he'd noticed.

Of course he'd noticed, stupid.

It wasn't like removing them was a big deal – Zora didn't have the same concept of nudity as did Hylians or Gerudo. The ornaments only became a regular fixture after he'd left, and she'd had to start attending to her duties as princess more often.

Before then, save for the rosier tint to her scales, she'd been hardly discernable from the other Zora girls. She remembered first seeing Link's face when he saw her with them – the last time she could remember seeing his eyes go wide with shock and—

Those same eyes blinked at her, questioning.

She was staring at him. Oh.

"I…" Mipha floundered for a moment, then surrendered. "I'm going for a walk."

She made it to the edge of the campsite before Link called out, "Mipha—"

Mipha looked at him over her shoulder. He was unreadable again, something in his gaze that wasn't quite animal – not the raptor, not the cat, not the wolf – it was something… something warm, and dark, and liquid, and Mipha was reminded of the look he'd given Zelda before pulling her from the water.

He struggled for a moment. Two. His mouth opened and closed. Five.

"Link?" She wished her voice wasn't so soft, that it didn't sound so hopeful.

He let out a breath of his own – a long sigh that made her wonder if he was having trouble remembering to breathe too.

Talking never used to be so difficult.

"Never mind," he said, and his eyes were on the forest again, in the shadows, far away from her. The abating firelight cast his face in pink and orange, and so she could not tell if his face was flushed with embarrassment for not finding the right words.

When they were younger, she wouldn't need to look to know that. There was a dim sense of sadness in that knowledge. She wouldn't have needed him to tell her what he was thinking, then, either.

She thought to say something more, but her voice was similarly absent.

She floundered for one moment, glanced at the lone tent the next, and the occupant hopefully sleeping within, and her chest twisted again.

Mipha did not _run_ from them, then, but it could be said that she fled.

X_0_X

She wandered for a while.

Alone with her thoughts, Mipha made an idle game of counting the moonbeams playing over the dewy leaves of the forest. The silver face suspended in the dark sky was near-full that night, so there were plenty to see.

It distracted her from her need to search the shadows to calm her heartbeat.

The part of her still shaking off her recent not-death regretted leaving her trident by her bedroll. Another part reasoned that it probably wouldn't help her soothe her anxiety as much as walking unarmed through the woods.

A third part urged her to go back to the campsite and sit with Link.

She ignored that part.

Still, Mipha's heartbeat did slowly subside, and the residual tension did drain away from limbs, so she counted it a victory, and took them time instead to wonder.

Why her?

She _remembered,_ vaguely, the rift between the dreams – the space she'd been suspended in, with the Master Sword before her.

_Soft purple light flared from the hilt, while the blade, pointed downwards, emitted a piercing, holy blue glow._

Why would _she_ receive such a vision, and not Zelda or Link? They were the chosen, after all. They were the Hero and the Princess. The bearer and the blood of Hyrule. They, not her, were divinely chosen. Talented. Strong. Steadfast. Infinitely more worthy of divine guidance. They—

Mipha's fingers flexed so powerfully she felt the bones in her hands creak.

_They_ needed help! Not her!

" _But I don't hear… or feel anything!" Zelda whispered, speaking to the goddess who would not hear her._

_She_ needed a vision, guidance, anything! The world hung in the balance, their lives, the kingdom, the soul of Hyrule—

_Zelda sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, her gown's soaking hem drying by the fire. Surely, she had to be cold. Surely, she hadn't pulled away from them because she was okay after being denied once again. Surely—_

" _She_ needed the help, damnit!" The words came from deep within her. Some shadowed corner that eschewed the light – there was too much to hide, too much that would change things in some irrevocable way. "Why _me_ , Hylia?"

Mipha belatedly realized her tirade had culminated in a pained whisper, not a shout. That her voice was choked, her lungs were full of lead, and her eyes were burning.

Why? Why her? Surely, the wisdom of the sword would have been better spent on _them_ instead of a pathetic, heartsick Zora…

Her back met the cool trunk of a towering beech tree, smooth bark slick with a thin film of moisture. She slid down slowly, her knees pulling up to her chest, her arms wrapping around herself again as the question rattled around her brain.

It didn't make sense…

Why?

X_0_X

Zelda found her the next morning, sitting on the edge of the spring with her feet submerged, her hands trailing idly through the cool, clean water.

Mipha did not notice the Hylian princess until she lowered her feet into the water beside her, hiking up her gown to avoid drenching the hemline. Glancing over absently, Mipha watched the goosebumps erupt on her arms silently, pebbling her tanned skin.

Zelda caught her eyes. Mipha looked away. "Hello Zelda."

She tried not to let her fatigue show in her voice.

It was a beautiful morning. Zelda took in a breath of the clean air, smelling autumn on the water and in the aging leaves on the trees. "Mipha," she inclined her head.

She sounded tired. It was possible she'd gotten even less sleep than Mipha had.

More than that, though, she looked shy, as though something heavy weighed on her mind. Tension gathered in her shoulders, like static collects in the air before a thunderstorm

"I just wanted to say…"

Mipha found herself turning to look properly at her, her eyes drawn to Zelda's by some invisible force. Her regard momentarily silenced Zelda, words dying on her lips.

Her eyes were very green.

"I just wanted to say that I'm glad you came with us," Zelda said, the words coming slowly, that she wouldn't find herself stuck again. "Your presence has been a balm. I know Link feels the same."

"It was my pleasure, princess."

The look Zelda shot her made Mipha's lips quirk.

" _Zelda_ , Mipha," she corrected shortly. "There are no formalities between us anymore. Link is bad enough as it is."

"As you say."

Zelda sniffed, but there was humor in it.

It didn't last, though. Zelda's gaze turned inward, and it seemed as though a cloud had passed overhead to veil her features. "I'm sorry there wasn't much for you to do… or much of a reason to celebrate afterwards. I'm sure you have many things that occupy your time."

As if attending the lax functions of Zora court, or Muzu's lessons, for that matter, could be as important as this journey...

"I'm glad I came with you," Mipha said instead.

Zelda blinked. "Why?"

Mipha thought back to the night by the fireside. To the girl she'd seen sitting there with the weight of the world on her shoulders, seemingly alone despite being with two that cared for her. That girl, who was a princess, and would become a queen and vessel to the goddess of all the lands.

That girl who sat beside her, probably as sleep deprived, tired, and anxious as Mipha herself.

But she couldn't say all of that, so…

"Because I think I understand you a bit better than I did before." Mipha said. She nodded a moment later, satisfied. That summed it up nicely.

She looked back to the spring, decidedly _not_ looking up at the goddess statue staring blankly down at them. She could feel the warmth of Zelda's stare on her – that calculating gaze that could burn a hole through a guardian's armor, if left alone long enough.

She missed Zelda's nonplussed expression, however.

"It's nice, you know," Mipha said.

"Pardon?"

"This." Mipha gestured to the spring. "Once you get past the statue, and the pilgrimage, it's a nice spring. Very peaceful, and beautiful. It reminds me of some of the quieter spots around the Domain."

Zelda subtly tensed.

Mipha felt it, and a fey recklessness suddenly overtook her alongside the anger that Zelda's discomfort – her _fear_ of reprisal, of criticism, of _judgement_ – incited. Her legs made a splash as she pulled them from the water. Turning to face Zelda, she tucked them neatly under her, and gently grabbed the princess' hand, pulling it into her lap.

Her heart beat faster within her chest; she had managed to surprise herself as well, but she needed this. She needed _to say_ this. Within the cage of her fingers, she could feel the tension in every little muscle, as well as each minute twitch of bone and sinew, like she'd captured a dove in her hands.

"Mipha—"

Mipha interrupted her before she could begin. "Do you know how my magic works, Zelda?"

Zelda's lips parted, but she hesitated again. Mipha had caught her off guard twice. "I don't… no. No, I don't," she said.

Mipha pressed her advantage, giving the girl's hand a warm squeeze to settle her nerves. It was an effort not to smile and show off the broad row of serrated teeth… what was comforting to a Zora was less so to a Hylian… unless you were Link. She had to field the full array of compassion she possessed in her expression alone.

"Healing magic is… complicated." To severely understate the reality. "Which is why so few have learned it. But there are a few basic principles most people would be able to grasp even without magical skill."

Zelda watched her silently, listening.

She hadn't made a move to take back her hand yet, so Mipha held on to it.

"First," she continued, "is that it takes energy to achieve. You cannot draw on nothing and expect results. Most magic will take from the reserves of the body, much like the body draws on itself to regenerate from injuries naturally. Some will draw energy from the environment, as Sheikah constructs do. I have no talent for that, personally…"

She could see curiosity burning in the princess' eyes, but Mipha squeezed her hand again, willing her to be patient.

"And some magic – the most potent – can draw upon the energies of the spirit, generated by the soul, which can be affected by our emotions."

Mipha paused, which Zelda took as an opportunity to interject. "I learned about this while working on the guardians," she said slowly. "What has it to do with me? Do you think—" She glanced at the goddess statue.

Mipha's lips tightened and she reached up to gently touch Zelda's cheek, turning her face to return her attention back to Mipha.

"I think your magic is quite different from mine," she said. "But might share some characteristics. My magic works best when I think of the people I care about, did you know?"

Zelda blinked. "Your emotional state affects your results?"

Mipha nodded. "Yes. Learning to use the magic is only part of the process. If it were only that easy, there would be many more healers. You have to have the mindset of a healer to use healing magic best. You have to _want_ your patient to heal – sincerely. You have to care about their recovery, and better yet to care about them. It's different from simply sewing them up and letting them leave."

Zelda's brow furrowed. "I'm guessing this isn't only about bedside conduct."

"No." Mipha frowned. "It's… the magic is like a connection. I might not even know who I'm healing while I'm doing it – maybe we've never even met before. But if I think about the people I care about, and put those same emotions to work, then the magic is… _more._ "

"And you think my abilities might be similar?" Doubt creased Zelda's brow.

Mipha nodded. "Potentially. It can't hurt, can it? Maybe it hasn't worked so far because you're only thinking of the prayers."

And, it went without saying, prayers did not draw on the same wellspring of emotion as thoughts of loved ones – especially not in Zelda's case.

The furrow didn't disappear, though Zelda's eyes took on a far-off quality as she mulled over the information. It was like watching the fine mechanisms of a clock move.

She still hadn't taken back her hand. It was warm in Mipha's.

An idea struck her.

She squeezed Zelda's fingers. "Can I show you?"

Her blood pumped quicker at the thought.

"How?" Zelda asked. By her face, she didn't seem opposed, just somewhat wary. "I don't need to be injured, do I?"

"No," Mipha smiled. "You won't get any particular benefit from it, but you don't need to be hurt for it to work. I don't feel like having Link cross with me today."

Zelda's lips twitched. "Understandable. What do I have to do?"

"Just get comfortable." Mipha indicated she sit facing her. "I used to do this with Link when we were children." She smiled. "Half the time he would be fast asleep when I was finished."

"I can't picture that happening now." Zelda returned the expression fully this time, slight dimples showing in her cheeks. "I don't think I've ever seen him fall asleep before me."

She resettled herself before Mipha, sitting primly on her ankles, uncaring of the moisture soaking into her dress. Mipha scooted a little closer, glad suddenly for the scales on her face that hid the faint blush warming her cheeks. The last time the two had been so near each other had been when Mipha and Link had held her between them, and before then, never.

She reached up to press her fingertips to Zelda's temples, grateful she had no sharp claws like some Zora, lest she inadvertently draw blood.

The spring fell silent, or perhaps it was Mipha's perceptions themselves shrinking… Restricting like the contraction of a pupil bathed in light. Only herself and Zelda remained. Amidst the distant sounds of the forest, she listened to her breathing. To Zelda's.

The Hylian's eyes closed at Mipha's touch, her head bowing slightly, and Mipha was reminded of her face by the fireside, shadowed, vulnerable, lonely.

She drew on the emotions and let them cycle within her, distilling themselves, becoming warm, soft, green energy… She grasped the thread with a delicate mental hand and channeled it through her fingertips, conducting through Zelda like she was a copper wire and Mipha the current.

Zelda sucked in a breath.

The girl swam before Mipha's eyes, this time not merely the impressions of her mortal eyes but rather the first sight of the soul as if it was rising above the horizon like the dawn.

Mipha saw Zelda then; truly _saw_ her, and a dark wave rose within the Zora princess, high and wide enough to drown the sunrise. The thread of herself became two, then three, and five, and continued to multiply as Mipha braided them together into a single stream.

The healing magic flooded Zelda, pulsing through her with an inner glow, and then suddenly, after a moment where her entire body tensed up, the Hylian princess melted in Mipha's hands.

Mipha nearly lost control of the magic when Zelda's body went slack and collapsed against her, every muscle going loose as the tension sloughed away. As it was, Mipha was forced to pull away from Zelda's temples, her hands instead coming to rest on Zelda's back.

An errant shiver seemed to pass through Zelda once more, and she sighed.

"This is… nice…" she murmured.

Mipha hummed, her smile firm on her face as she held the magic. She had never heard Zelda's voice like that – dozy, as though she was held upon the hazy edge of sleep and waking.

She reached up with one hand to stroke Zelda's hair. Carding her fingers through the long, golden tresses, awash in the glow of her magic and the emotions that fueled it, with her princess tucked snugly against her, Mipha briefly forgot time.

Only briefly, though. She could have held the spell until the sun set again, but her mind was not so constant, and she knew that Link would be returning soon.

Mipha felt Zelda shift in her arms as she thought of the Hylian knight, though she knew not what the girl felt from her through their connection.

She barely knew what she felt herself…

Zelda's whisper brushed her chest. "You really care about him, don't you?"

The flow faltered, much like her voice.

"You miss him." It wasn't a question, this time. Zelda only seemed to confirm it to herself.

Mipha mentally took hold of the flow and rebound the threads again. It became steady, in contrast to the roiling tide within her. No doubt Zelda could feel the echoes of the storm, though Mipha wasn't ready to cut it off yet.

Her silence seemed to annoy Zelda though, who lifted her head to look at her properly.

Her eyes were dilated and dark. Mipha's breath caught. Zelda frowned faintly as she spoke, her thoughts seemingly hazy and muddled, though Mipha was doubtful that anything in the kingdom would suffice to truly still the girl's mind.

"You think I took him away from you," Zelda said.

"I don't." Mipha frowned, alarmed by the sudden downturn. "You didn't."

"I can feel you." There was something fierce in the girl's expression. "You miss him. He is bound to follow me. I took him away from you…"

"Zelda—"

"Me," Zelda interrupted, pressing on doggedly. Her face fell and her forehead dropped to Mipha's chest, resting where Mipha had no doubt she would hear her hammering heartbeat, the roaring squall in her pulse. "The girl who can't do her one job. The princess who failed her people, the—"

" _Zelda_ ," Mipha snapped.

Her ears rang and by the slackening of the pale, delicate skin around Zelda's eyes, Mipha guessed that she finally felt the rising tide of anger-frustration-protectiveness flooding through her hands, the magic forgotten but not yet dispelled.

Mipha grabbed Zelda's chin, not forcefully, but firm enough that she would be unable to look away. Then she waited until her voice was steady, lest she lose it early again.

It was harder than it should have been.

"You." She poked Zelda in the chest. "Are _not_ a failure. You didn't take anyone away from me. It is not your fault Hylia isn't being cooperative. It is not your fault you're struggling without a teacher. It is not your fault that you do not feel ready when you have done _everything_ within your power to become so. _And it is not your fault_ that Ganon is returning," Mipha announced angrily.

"You." She jabbed her in the chest again, and the wisps of magic that clung to Zelda's chest like fireflies made the girl shiver. "Are a fine princess, a steadfast priestess, a worthy ally, and an excellent friend. _Stop forgetting it!_ "

Mipha belatedly realized that, in a parody of the night before, instead of remaining a whisper her voice had risen to a near shout.

Fortunately, she did not have to spend the time to process it, because a moment later Zelda's expression wavered, and then Mipha's arms were thrown back around her because she was sobbing and her warm tears were flowing down her cheeks and oh merciful gods she'd made her friend _cry_ —

Zelda laughed, fey and wracked with a slew of incomprehensible emotions, and Mipha realized that she was still channeling her magic.

She cut it off then with a flush and simply held Zelda against her. Her arms squeezed Mipha tighter around the middle when the warm sea-green magic faded.

Such was the situation that Mipha barely registered when Link returned.

His footsteps should have been obvious, after all, given the hard soles of his boots and the stone entrance to the spring amplifying the sound, but Mipha was tidily distracted by the sobbing girl in her arms.

She noticed, however, when his arms settled around their shoulders and Zelda snapped one arm out to pull him in closer.

Mipha lifted her face from the crown of Zelda's head to look him in the eyes and saw nothing less than alarm in the limitless blue orbs.

She looked away in shame.

He squeezed her, holding her closer without judgement.

In that moment Mipha regretted not speaking with him the night before. Perhaps they could have confronted Zelda together. Perhaps he might have had the words that would buoy the princess' spirit.

She looked back down to the sniffling girl in their arms. The sobbing was abating, her breathing coming in slower and calmer, if not quite composed yet.

…Perhaps what she'd needed was a good cry.

Mipha rested her chin on Zelda's head again with a sigh. Regardless, there was no changing things, and hopefully she would feel better after that day. Mipha tensed momentarily when she felt another chin, this one settling on top of her head, and then let herself relax, leaning into the hollow Link had provided.

She felt drained. First by the nightmare, then by the magic and the tempest of emotions she'd experienced, and now…

The exhaustion of the night before had caught up to her. She thought, for a moment, to fight it, but…

Zelda's breathing had calmed, but much like before when she'd let Mipha keep her hand, she didn't seem keen on moving. Link too, was a solid warmth against them both.

Mipha closed her eyes.

X_0_X

They did not forget the events of their foray as they journeyed back to the castle. It showed in small ways that Mipha might have overlooked were she an outsider.

Still, there was silence around the campfire more often than not.

Still, did the shadows that stole over the faces of her companions reappear.

Still, was the weight of the world upon their shoulders.

But, despite it all, upon their return Mipha sensed a hint of peace among them.

Silence, after all, need not betoken discomfort. When words would not suffice sometimes Mipha would sit beside them and only a simple touch would suffice to communicate.

While the shadows lingered, they were more easily banished, she felt.

And when Zelda looked upon the towering edifice of Hyrule Castle, Mipha thought she could sense her renewed resolve, and a greater hint of the steel that would become her as queen one day.

When they returned, though the disappointment of their failure to awaken Zelda's powers at the spring hovered over their heads like a vulture when they reported to King Rhoam, it did not crush them as it might have.

Instead, they took the moments that they needed, sometimes to hold each other, sometimes to talk, sometimes merely to breathe.

With each passing sunrise, as the apocalypse drew nearer, Mipha felt their problems draw closer, and while they never felt manageable, at least she did not feel alone.

They were enough in that way. They were everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment! I'd love to hear what you thought.


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